Page 252 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet

“Do not make me close this courtroom,” Judge Hartford warned them before addressing Elena. “Are you saying that you had a sexual relationship with the defendant before you started to represent him?”

“I am.”

I shot a look at Dennis and found his face pinch, his eyes dark with anger.

They hadn’t thought of this.

“Permission to approach the bench?” Elena asked, picking up a folder. When the judge nodded, she rounded the table and went to the bench, showing him the evidence contained within.

I knew there was a photo of Cosima, Alexander, Elena, and me atOsteria Lombardifrom two years ago before Noel had set a bomb to go off in the bathroom. There was another of us at one of Giselle’s art shows that could be construed as intimate because we were standing side by side, gazing closely at a painting of a woman’s naked ass perched on her heels while she gave head to someone beneath an office desk. There was a signed affidavit from Alexander explaining that we first met when Cosima was in a coma and that we started a relationship shortly after that.

There he was, the brother who had hated me for years, lying for me once again.

“Is that enough?” Elena asked, her voice saccharine even though I could see her eyes flash from where I sat.

Merda, but she was amazing to watch in her element.

The judge stared at the evidence unhappily, sliding a quick look over at Dennis, who was trying his best to seem unperturbed. Only his skin was flushed, and he snapped his pencil in two when he went to write something down.

He caught me looking at him, so I let one of my bestial grins dominate my face. He blinked, his chin canting slightly in concession to his need to get away from me.

I almost laughed, but Elena crossing back to our table distracted me.

“Fine,” Judge Hartford allowed. “Mrs. Salvatore will remain. As long as Mr. Salvatore knows the consequences?”

“Oh, I do, Your Honor,” I assured him, innuendo ripe in my tone.

Behind us, the crowd laughed.

Elena sat beside me and surreptitiously squeezed my thigh beneath the table.

“May we move on to the matter at hand now, Your Honor?” Yara had the balls to ask.

The judge scowled but agreed. “Yes, the opening witness may take the stand.”

“Point one for us,” Elena murmured softly.

“Still have a long way to go,lottatrice.”

“Oh, I know,” she agreed, almost gleefully, so in her element she seemed to glow. “The fun is just getting started.”

It turned out, she was right.

The first witness was Ottavio Petretti, the man who ownedOttavio’sdeli where Giuseppe di Carlo was murdered. The man Elena had gone to Staten Island to convince to testify and then been nearly run off the road by the di Carlos and the Irish mob.

Under Yara’s coaxing, he admitted that he’d been paid to leave the premises by Giuseppe di Carlo’s thug because they planned to do violence to the girl in the shop, Cosima Lombardi. He also confessed that he knew me on sight and had not seen me in Brooklyn the day of the shooting.

Dennis O’Malley looked annoyed but not crestfallen. He spoke to his associate, who scurried out of the room to do his bidding.

When he cross-examined Ottavio, he tore him to pieces like a carcass in the mouth of a wild dog. He mentioned the deli owner’s drinking problems, his poor vision, the fact that he had never met me formally, only in passing and therefore could have been mistaken about not seeing me there that day.

By the time he was done, Ottavio’s fleshy, pink face was quivering and deeply unhappy.

Cazzo.

The next day, we brought in the big guns.

Carter Andretti.